Furor
by Ayame Nekura
Summary: There are things which can be forgotten but never erased. His mark is on her soul.


**A/N: **_This is a brief exploration of Bella's internal experience within Azkaban. I find myself rather intrigued with her character and I wanted to get closer to it, having done that I think I love her even more…she's insane! And we love her for it! Some of you will argue that when the Dark Lord was defeated by the Potter brat that his follower's Marks disappeared entirely but speaking as one with a tattoo I can say that when a mark or symbol becomes a part of your body for such a long time even were it to vanish it would still be clear in a strange way to you…I hope you enjoy this little oneshot. The title is latin for Madness and suggests a sort of commotion in English so it seemed appropriate. As always I'd like to thank my friend and beta Sophiax for her encouragement, support and advice. All Hail!_

**Disclaimer: **_**I do not own any of the brilliant imaginings of J.K. Rowling, she does, and we love her for it.**_

**Furor**

Footsteps echo through the hallway of Azkaban. The rare sound snaps me from my stupor. They are heavy and slightly wet. A door slams and the sound reverberates along the cellblock. My head snaps up and I stare expectantly through the bars from the huddled position in the corner of my cell. It's not a Dementor; it's a human guard, perhaps on his way to another part of the prison.

His footsteps draw closer and the screaming from the other cells grows quieter; the sobs are muffled as everyone stops and takes notice. I crawl closer to the bars. I inhale deeply through my nose. I can smell him. He smells of afternoon tea, shaving cream, warm food, baked potatoes, lentil soup and warm bread… there is the lingering scent of a woman's perfume, fresh air, and the mouth-watering electric crackle of magic. He has a wand. I savor this rare treat, this buffet of smells from the world beyond these cold, damp walls. I wait as he draws nearer.

I see him, guard's uniform, thinning brown hair, wanwandwand I know he has a wand somewhere with him. I can smell it. He sees me staring at him hungrily.

"Death Eater." He sneers, then spits at me through the bars.

"Yessssss," I hiss as his spittle hits the stone floor beside me. He moves on and his footsteps fade. Another door slams in the distance and he is gone. But I grin.

My joy, my pride, my life is mine for another few minutes. The Dementors suck it from me, but the ignorant hatred of the rare human guard gives it back. The taunt is meant to degrade, but it elates instead.

"Death Eater," I whisper as the soft sobs from the other cells begin again. "Death Eater, Death Eater, Pureblood, bloodbloodblood, Death Eater." I chant. I remind myself. I have to remind myself. I remember, I claw at my sleeve. "Yessssss, The Dark Mark, He gave it to me, He gave it to _me_, I am _His, _The Dark Lord, Dark Lord, Dark Mark, Death Eater, My Lord, My Lord, I'm _His._" I chant, to remember, to remind myself. I stare at the Dark Mark, I had forgotten it. The Dementors took the memory. But I see it; I have it back for a few minutes. It is _mine. _I am _His. _He gave it to me. Burned it into my flesh so we would always be together, so we would always be connected. "I am _His._"

I run my splintered fingernails across it and shudder; it has faded since his defeat to a mere whisper upon my flesh. But it is there. "The Dark Lord will rise again, and He will reward me greatly for my loyalty." I must remind myself, I must remember, I must not forget Him. "My Lord, My Lord _Voldemort_, I am _Yours._" I must remind, must remember. The Dementors will come and take it away again.

I crawl back to my corner and curl up with my memories, my joy, my pride, my life, My Lord. He will rise again, He will reward, and He will punish those who have betrayed him. "Filthy cowards, turncoats, abandoners." I spit. He will rise again and He will come to save me, the Dark Lord will rescue me from this pit of madness. He will rise again.

There is a leak in the ceiling. A slow and silent stream of water flows down the stone wall of my cell to form a tiny puddle on the floor. I stare at it, the wet stone, the damp stone. I must rememberrememberremember. The damp stone reminds me of my first Dark Revel. They brought us Muggles to play with, blood traitors and Mudbloods. "Filthy little Mudbloods, blood traitors, magic-less Muggles and Muggleborns, kill them all, killthemkillthem." I whisper hoarsely. I remember my voice again. I was laughing. The Dark Revel, I was laughing. The stone of the alter was wet and dark with blood, dirty blood, impure. "I am Pure, I am worthy My Lord." MyLordMyLord, The Dark Lord.

I stare again at the faded outline of my Dark Mark. He marked me, _ME_, I am worthy, I am pure, I am _His._ He pressed his beautiful white, white wand of yew, of death, of power, of purity against my arm. He stared deep into my eyes. _What colour were his eyes, Bella? _I can't remember, can't remember. His hair was dark, His face was handsome, His skin was pale like mine, like mine, His eyes…His eyes…can't remember, can't remember. He looked at me so deeply and I felt a shudder of warmth run up my spine as I looked into His eyes…His eyes. They were deep, and they held power. _What colour were his eyes, Bella? _BLUE! His eyes were deep and blue and powerful.

Then He said the words. _What were the words, Bella? _Can't remember, can't remember. But His voice was thick and dark and it made my stomach twist with pleasure. Then after the words there was pain, painpainpain, it was so good, the pain was so sweet and so dark and so deep and so good because the pain made me _His. _The pain made me His forever, His forever, till Deathdeathdeath. "Death Eater." I whisper.

The houses burning, the Muggles running, screaming, hiding, fighting, dying. I had a wand, a wand and power, I was so powerful. I was laughing, I was cursing, I was killing, I was killing with words. _What were the words, Bella? _Can't remember, can't remember. Fear in their eyes, I was something so powerful they couldn't even begin to comprehend me. Then I said the words, flashes of light, cold, blank, lifeless eyes. Dead eyes were like the sky with clouds, they had clouds in their eyes and no more rain, no more rain. Green, bright green made the clouds, the lovely little clouds in their eyes. Words made the green, the clouds, words and power and my wand, my wand and my wordswordswords. _What were the words, Bella? What were the words that made them scream? What were the words that made them still?_ Can't remember, can't remember. His eyes were blue, I remember His eyes, His voice, His face, His wand, His pain that made me His.

I stroke the whisper of my Dark Mark, barely there, it's barely there. I remember it used to be black, it used to be so Dark. The robes, the mask, my wand, the Mark. It would burn so beautiful and I shudder with the memory. I shudder and my stomach twists with pleasure at the memory of the pain, the pain that meant I was _His. _"I _AM _His, forever till deathdeathdeathDeathEater," I whisper. It used to be black, it used to burn when He wanted me, when He called. He used to call and I would hiss with pain, sweet sweet pain, and then apparate to His side….my wand, dark wood, dark core, smooth to the touch.

They broke my wand and threw me in this cell, this tiny, tiny room. "Turncoats, cowards, traitors, blood traitors, Muggle loving filth." I would get out, He will rise again and He will come for me because I am His. I will kill them all, one by one, one by one. I will make them scream, make them beg, make them paypaypay. _What were the words, Bella? What were the words that made them scream? What were the words that made them beg? _Can't remember, can't remember. "Make them scream, make them beg, make them talk, make them tell, screamscreamscream, then die." Flashes of green. His eyes were blue, His eyes were dark, dark like His mark, like His magic, like mine, like me. The pain meant we were one.

But then He was gone. "Gonegonegone." _Nononono, don't think of that, you remember too well, you remember when the Dementors come. _The Dementors will be coming soon, have to remember, have to remember. "He will rise again, He will come for me, He will reward me and punish the betrayers, abandoners, _traitors._"

The Dark Lord will never be defeated, He will never truly fall, for he is too great, too much, _too many. _

The filthy Halfblood child has merely hindered Him, and He will pay, I will make the brat pay for what he has done. I will make him scream, make him twitch, make him beg, the boy who lived will die curled up in agony at my feet. The Dark Lord will reward me and punish the others, I'll make the boy so stillstillstill forever.

"_**CRUCIO!**_" I scream, I remember, I remember. The words, the power, my wand, my wand. "_**CRUCIO! AVADA KEDAVRA!**_" The cellblock is quiet as the others listen. Do they remember? I can hear the cellblock fall silent, the sobs are silenced as others listen. "_**CRUCIO!**_" I scream again. My voice sounds harsh and unused. My syllables do not echo but reach desperately towards the very last cell. They scrape at the walls as if they too had splintered fingernails, that they might claw their way out… perhaps they could find my wand. My wand, my wand, they broke my wand, they broke my wand, but they'll never break me. I'll always remember. I hear another desperate voice down the long corridor on the left.

"_**Imperio!**_" A man screams. Do I know him? Did I know him? Did I not once have a husband? Is he in this Hell of unremembered words and faces and feelings as well? Yesyesyes. His name was strange, no, Lestrange. His name was Lestrange, and I was Black. Black like the robes, like the night, like the shadows we dwelled in, Black like the Mark, His mark. I remember, I remember. I'm laughing so hard I can barely breathe; my white ribs are dancing beneath my thin flesh. I remember.

"_**MORSMORDRE!**_" I scream as loud as I can. Perhaps even without my wand I can pour enough into that sound that it will spill from my chapped lips and there will be enough power within the syllables that it will take shape and fly. Maybe hover within the cellblock, perhaps fly higher and farther and find Him, wherever He is. Perhaps He is struggling somewhere between this world and the Underworld and that shape and my power will find Him and carry Him back to me. "_**MORSMORDRE! MORSMORDRE!**_" I scream again and again.

Soon other hoarse voices from behind rusty prison bars join in and we begin to chant together. Their voices sound familiar and our chorus spawns a thousand stolen images. They press behind my eyes and sting with beauty and darkness.

All of us together, bowing before our Lord as He walked among us and praised our work. The power, the power of all of us. The fear in the faces of those that were unworthy, that would see us where we are now, once they fled, they will flee again before our vengeance. Quiet meetings among like minds, among the pure and the worthy. Watching our cause grow in strength and in numbers; seeing more initiates come before us and the Dark Lord; the look of approval in His face when you did well, when you went above and beyond and impressed Him.

That look made everything else disappear and the world was silent and perfect when he was pleased, and not just pleased, pleased with _you. _His rewards were great, but none were so great to me as His pleasure. I remember the day I realized that I had earned His trust. He sent me alone. No one went with me. He trusted me to do what was needed on my own.

"Who will accompany me on this mission My Lord?" I had asked Him.

"You will go unaccompanied tonight, Bella. I trust you." He pinned me with those eyes and they seemed to burn, burn like my flesh burned when he called for me, burn beautiful, burn so so good. He smiled slightly and waved His hand in dismissal. I bowed and as I backed away I wrapped His quiet smile in silk and tucked somewhere deep inside me so that I would always have it with me.

I cleaned a house of nine that night, even the cat. When I was done I left the brightest Mark above the home that anyone had ever cast. When I saw it gracing the front page of the Daily Prophet the next morning all I could see was His smile. I know He saw it too. I know because He smiled again at the next meeting. I kept every single one, and now I have them back again for a few precious moments. His trust, His pleasure, my joy, my pride, my life, My Lord, this is what will take shape and fly to Him wherever he may be. He is not nowhere, He is not dead, He is not defeated. He will rise again.

"_**MORSMORDRE! MORSMORDRE! MORSMORDRE!**_" we all chant together. Azkaban echoes, Azkaban trembles, for Azkaban knows that it cannot hold us forever. We will be free and all of our memories will be ours for all eternity. These words _must _take shape even without wands, and that shape must guide Him or find Him somehow. Our loyalty will please Him greatly. His pleasure is my life, His displeasure is my death. The Dark Lord is my joy.

"_**MORSMORDRE! MORSMORDRE! MORSMORDRE!**_" They may break our wands, but we will not be broken, I will never be broken. _My Lord? My Lord? Can you hear us? Can you hear me wherever you are?_

A door opens and the air freezes before it can flee. We fall silent. Someone is moaning down the cellblock to my right. It sounds like a child being asked to give up its most precious toy. It sounds like a half-broken man about to be robbed of his joy, all of it. We are silent.

I stare sightlessly at the damp stone floor. The puddle freezes over as a shadowy figure glides past the bars of my cell. "MorsmordreMorsmordreMorsmordre," I whisper quietly as the whimpering begins again. They can take everything as many times as they wish, they can drain me of these words, His voice, His eyes, His face, His small smiles, they can take it from me again and again. But they'll never keep it for long; they'll never break me. His mark is not something that can be forgotten or cured or cleaned. His mark is not a collection of sounds and images in my mind; His mark is on my soul.

It is glorious in its darkness, it is dark as midnight on solstice with the promise of a full moon beginning to creep between the branches of trees painted black by a sky of His fervor. It smells heavy, like earth or death or sex and it is the sensation of his long cool fingers stroking my hair back from my brow as he whispers, "You have done so well, Bella, you have pleased Lord Voldemort greatly this night." These are things which can be forgotten but never erased, I will always remember again and I will never be broken.

A shuddering rattling breath is drawn down the corridor and a grown man screams as he is made empty. I do not think him weak. It is unbearable to have the finely woven layers of sensation and experience and memory ripped from one's soul. One rasping gasp from a Dementor and the essence is laid bare like an olive or an oyster, it is searing, burning, freezing and empyemptyempty. Void. It is nothing and it is a nothing that is easily devoured. Nothing is impending. Nothing is imminent. Nothing is coming this way. I can hear nothing howling like wind through a broken window before a storm.

"MyLordMyLordMyLord_VoldemortVoldemort_, I am _yours_, I am still yours and I will always be yours, My Lord. All Hail, All Hail, Dark Lord, Dark Lord, My Lord, My Lord, I am _yours._" I claw desperately at the faded silhouette of my Dark Mark… now it is a promise but soon it will be a space, a meaningless outline where something I cannot recall once was. _Was it?_ Yesyesyes. Always My Lord, always. I am your Bella. I am always your BellatrixBellatrixBlackBlackBlack.

"DeathEaterDeathEater," I whisper as I claw at my mark, I have to keep it somehow, even if it is under my fingernails. I can hide it away there till it falls in pale dead ribbons to the cold stone floor. I am clinging to His face, His voice, His eyes, MyLordMyLord as the outline is made more tangible, I gouge it deeper and stronger into my flesh till blood bubbles to the surface as manic laughter bubbles from my dry throat.

I remember, I remember everything.

I run the fingertips of my mind over each smell, each sight, each sensation and recollection of my joy, my pride, my life, My Lord My Lord. Hold it, keep it, just a few seconds longer just a few seconds longer it is mineminemine I am _His._

The Dementor is hovering like clouds in my eyes, a living death for how many minutes? Hours? Days? Weeks? Months? Years? Years and years and years. _How long has it been? How long will it be?_ It doesn't matter, none of it matters. "The Dark Lord will rise againagainagain, forever and ever, He will come, he will rise again and He will come for mecomeformecomeforme."

His eyes were blue, deep and powerful and dark like His mark, like His magic, like me. His voice was like kerosene on flesh, cool as water unless He lit a match. When He called for me my flesh burned so beautiful. I loved to burn for Him, the pain made me His. _Keep it, hold it closer._ My splintered nails have carved the shape of His mark deeper and darker, I can keep it for weeks now, months if I can remember to keep it fresh. It weeps for Him, for His return, the tears of my flesh paint it red.

The Dementor takes its first rasping breath and it all flies apart like glass, thousands of pieces of something I can't quite recall anymore. _What were the words, Bella? _"CrucioCrucioCrucioImperioAvadaKedavraAvadaKedavraMorsmordreMorsmordreMorsmordreMakethempaymakethempay." I whisper to myself, I try to keep it longer, I have to keep it. It's mine, it's me. I am _His._ Another breath, howling wind through the broken window. _Whose window? _"Don't know, doesn't matter, MyLordMyLord. I am yours, your BellaBellaBellatrixBlack, always yours, at your service, AllHailHailHail!"

Another breath. _What were the words, Bella? What were the words? _"Don't remember, can't remember." My white flesh weeps for my finely woven self that is unraveling in the gale this creature at my cell is stirring. I drag my tongue across the mark and lick the blood from my flesh. It is an explosion in my mind and mouth. The blood tastes of promises made and fulfilled, of devotion and trust and elation, of demands made and met, desires granted, meetings in the dead of night, whispers in the dark, robed figures, masked faces so familiar, pain and pleasure swirling together inseparable, and the feeling of Him callingmecallingme.

Another breath. I can feel something inside me stretching and tearing, something at the core of me, a hymen of hope. I scream as bits of me begin to fly loose and float away to be devoured. I lick the blood from my arm again; _I had done that moments ago_, I think for some reason, it seemed important. It tastes of copper and too many forevers of bread and water, it tastes of something else as well, something important.

I stare blankly at the strange shape that has been carved jaggedly into my forearm. I stare at my hands, they are smeared with blood and small chunks of skin are tucked away beneath my fingernails, it would seem that I have done this to myself.

I stare again at the shape, it is an outline of something, something important. It is the shape of a jigsaw puzzle piece, it is the shape of wondering, of forgetting, of dying slowly of the cold and damp, it is the shape of something that is now nothing. I lick my arm again. _What colour were His eyes, Bella? _Don't know. Whose eyes? Was it important? Yesyesyes. I know it was, what colour were his eyes Bella? RememberRememberRemember.

I lick my shredded skin frantically till my face is smeared with blood and the fresh wound stings and throbs. "Yessss," I hiss as sharp pain lances through me. It feels like something else, something I know, something so beautiful it makes me laugh though it is only a shadow. A shadow with blue eyes and a velvet voice that throbs with unrestrained power and vision. "My Lord," I gasp.

Another shuddering breath from the Dementor. I have always been His most faithful follower, I am suffering. I would not suffer unless My Lord desired it. I must have displeased My Lord. How could I have done such a thing? Have I betrayed Him in some way? Failed Him? Have I failed My Lord? My strangled sob echoes.

Another breath. I scream again as my soul is laid bare, a raw vulnerable thing that sits inside me like the last grape in a dish that was once full, shining wet with the juices of other fruits now devoured. My arm hurts, I stare at it. I don't understand. I feel that I have let someone down, failed or made a terrible mistake somehow. I don't remember. I know it was important. For a moment the bloody marks on my arm seem to mean something, I can almost see a glimpse of a pale, quiet smile in the face of a man I'm sure I must know; but then the Dementor takes its last hollow breath before gliding away down the cellblock and it is gone.

It is not important.

I curl up closer to the wall and begin to rock back and forth. I hum a quiet little song that I am making up as I go because for some reason I can't remember many songs right now. It's cold. I drag my grimy fingertips across the blood soaked wound on my arm. I don't know why but it seems important. It reminds me of something I cannot recall and I cannot forget. I lick the blood from my fingers and cry as I hum. I think I've lost something, something beautiful. I can't remember.


End file.
